Zach Does Parody
by Iryl
Summary: One-shot Zach tries his hand at VD fanfiction writing, but it doesn't go so well. This is what comes from me when I critique smutty LJS-VD fanfiction at midnight and write until 3am. Finished.


**Zach Does Parody**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters within, nor have I ever. LJS rules, and I hope she won't sue me out of the hundreds of other fans who have borrowed her characters for non-commercial use.

**Author's Notes: **I recently got a taste of LJS Damon+Original Character and I was overwhelmed with the senselessness of the plot and character development. So, I made a parody, using Zach (_Forbidden Game_, Jenny's cousin) as my mode of parody-ness. I haven't done many parodies, so I'd be happy to hear about what I might look out for next time I do one.

* * *

_It was dark out. Very dark. So dark that a man couldn't see his hand in front of his face. . . ._

*Thump*

"I TOLD you you couldn't see your hand in front of your face!"

An irate voice rises from the darkness. "Well that's just peachy. You're the narrator you know – give me a light or something."

"Okay."

_There was a tiny flickering of light. One man had a lighter._

"AHHH!! I'm on FIRE!!"

"Well put it out! Put it out! Here!" *types furiously*

_And another man had a bucket of cold water._

*sploosh*

"Ahhh."

_There was silence, and then someone spoke._

"Our light went out."

"Will you SHUT UP?! It's dark out and you can't see anything, so LIVE WITH IT!!"

"Fine, fine," came a muttering. "See what happens when you let the disgruntled photographer write the story?"

A sigh.

"I am not disgruntled, I am traumatized. There's a difference."

"You're not even a writer. And you're insane."

"I'm not insane, Michael."

"You were. You played with rocks."

"That was a long time ago. Why do you have to keep bringing that stupid Game up?! An artist is an artist, so LET ME WRITE!!!"

"Um . . . Zach. . . . Just let Iryl do it."

"No!"

Another sigh, then the furious clicking of keys.

_Everyone shut their mouths and the writer had some time to think – and Michael goes home._

Zach listens and hears only the singing of crickets. He types.

_EVERYONE._

The crickets stop. He smiles.

_It was dark out. Very dark. So dark that a man couldn't see his hand in front of his face. But one man didn't need to – he wasn't a man._

"Hold on there – I very well AM a man! A vampire man, albeit, but I'm male and I RESENT it being implied–"

"ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT!!"

_But one man didn't need to – he was a vampire._

"Thank you."

_He was a handsome, debonair, Italian vampire, with a hard, muscular body, liquid black hair, and dark, mysterious eyes._

"Don't forget my luscious lips and smooth, pale skin!"

"Who's writing this?" Zach demands.

"Who has the fangs?"

"Now, now boys," a calm young woman wafts through, smiling and spreading cheer to everyone around her, like a sylph of joy. She is blonde and has brilliant, bright green eyes. Her smile is like sunshine, and she beams at them.

Zach blinks at the vampire. "Do you know her?"

The latter fellow shakes his head, looking thoughtful. "I think . . . that she's from _The Secret Circle_."

Zach turns to the girl.

She is still smiling at them. "My name is Diana," she offers, beaming.

He frowns for a moment, then yanks her arm and tosses her out of the scene, "GET BACK TO YOUR OWN BOOK!!!" That finished, he plops back down at his typewriter.

"A typewriter? How gauche."

Zach looks in ill-humor at the dark vampire, who has flipped his straight, dark hair expertly and is presently looking at himself in a hand-mirror. Zach shakes his head. "Are you gay?" Zach ducks the hand-mirror and hurriedly types on.

_This vampire was like no other. He was suave. Cool. And possessed an endless supply of cherry lollipops and chocolate fudge._

"You better not be MAKING me gay," the vampire growls.

Zach doesn't reply.

_He is a ladies' man, a Don Juan, a Jack-of-all-trades, a dangerous, charming, sophisticated creature of the world. It was only a matter of course that he drank blood._

"I like this better, but would you PLEASE get on with it?"

_He walked into a bar and got sloshed._

"Wha-at?! I do NOT get drunk. I hold my liquor incredibly well, and I don't even have a reason to be in there for God's sake! Have you ever heard of plot?!"

_He prayed to the Goddess that he could fall in love._

"What?! You idiot! Only the Night World cast has a Goddess!! I answer to no one – especially some punk writer wanna-be!"

_He was Damon Salvatore, the devastating bad boy–_

"I am NOT a boy. I am old enough to be your great great great great great great great–"

_–bad MAN–_

"–grandfather."

_–who drove women out of their minds. All the women in the club were drooling over him, lusting for him._

"I thought I was at a bar. Not that I'm complaining." Damon looks askance at a little fat woman who has snuck up behind him and is groping his rear. "Or maybe. . . ."

_But one catches his attention. She is dark, she is mysterious, she is voluptuous–_

"You are NOT setting me up with Blaise or Faye again. I have had quite enough of crossover girls, thank you VERY much!" He swats the fat woman away from him.

_She is a complete unknown._

Damon groans. "Not an original character!! That's worse!"

Zach slams his fist on the table. "You don't want ANYBODY! Look, just shut up and let me do my thing."

_She saunters over to him, but never looks at him. There is a smile playing about her mouth, but she does not let on that she is interested. They both reach for the same glass and their hands brush. Electricity! He turns and they stare at each other for a long, measured moment as the heat of the room increases. . . ._

Damon mutters, sullen, "I bet he's gay. Everyone knows the only people who write these things are lonely college girls. . . ."

_"Grandma Harman!" Damon cries, falling passionately on the woman. "I love you!"_

"What the–?! NO!"

A blonde appears at Zach's elbow and starts to beat him with part of his typewriter. "You jerk! You monster!" she yells, punctuating each cry with a swing of metal to Zach's defenseless body. "How DARE you use my grandma like that?! You oughta be ashamed of yourself! You–" she continues with a barrage of names until she can no longer see straight. She finally drops her makeshift weapon and turns away. "Do it again and I'll send Blaise."

"That was entertaining," Damon observes from his bar-stool.

Zach, black and blue, looks at his ruined typewriter. He sighs. "Oh, forget it. I'm going to bed."

"Good night, John-boy."

**End**


End file.
